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EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF 
FORMER VOLUME. 



" We find these poems of sentiment by Hattie Howard entirely 
natural, spontaneous, direct, rhythmical, and free from ambitious 
pretense. Many of the fanciful verses have a laugh at the end ; 
and the collection has altogether a sunny, hopeful spirit and will 
be welcome in this time of generally morbid expression." 
— Hartford Courant. 

"This author's verse shows a hearty, wholesome, human spirit, 
Sometimes overflowing into downright fun, and a straightforward 
directness always. It is a pleasant book, sure to be welcomed by 
all." — Hartford Times. 

"These garnered gems reveal a genuine poetic facultj^, and 
are worthy their attractive setting. We give the book a hearty 
welcome." — Christian Secretary. 

" Many of the poems abound in playful humor or tender touches 
of sympathy which appeal to a refined feeling, and love for the 
good, the true, and the beautiful." — Religious Herald. 

"This poet's ear is so attuned to metric harmony that she 
must have been born within sound of some osier-fringed brook 
leaping and hurrying over its pebbly bed. There is a variety of 
subject and treatment, sufficient for all tastes, and these are 
poems which should be cherished." — Evening Post. 

"Lovers of good poetry will herald with pleasure this new and 
attractive volume by the well-known authoress of Hartford. A 
wooing sentiment aud genial spirit seem to guide her in every 
train of thought. Her book has received, and deserves, warm 
commendations of the press." — Connecticut Farmer. 



LATER POEMS 



BY 



HATTIE HOWARD. 



Books and friends O choose with care! 
Best, deluded by the glare 

Of their covers, or their looks, 
You may some day in despair 

Hue your choice of friends and hooks. 




HARTFORD, CONN. 

1887. 






C'OPTKIGHT. 1887. 

By HATTIE HOWARD. 



Press of The Vase. Lockwood & Brainard Co., Hartford, Conn. 



gedJjcatiou. 

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eFront me a ttifmte vueff ntiant cfaint. 

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Of Picmeot purpose, notfe beebs, 

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fit ^oatcfvfwf -tuo^fb in rapture zeabs — 

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Clnb so 3 pa-14 tfie beGt to eFavne. 

5)eat luctTic t-frienb, ^inetH&e^ma 
Otiose fvapptj, abofescent baip 

^Vfie-n- 9 Mi&mitteb evenjl'nincj. 

'iBo tfvee, fo-r- -vuotifiu Gfatne a^ praise, 

*^Wio hinbttft tut-neb tfie poet's leaf — 
9 of fez tTiec tins aa^ne/ci.b sfteaf ! 



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PAGE. 


Makch, ....... 9 


Generous Giving, . 








11 


Ambition, .... 








12 


" Ben Huii," .... 








13 


The Fortune Teller, 








15 


Penelope, 








17 


" Water on the Brain," . 








18 


Too Soon! 








20 


Sleeping, 








21 


Tableaux, 






* 


22 


"Holy Land," 








24 


Block Island, 








27 


The Dear Remaining Few, 








28 


A Great Singer, 








30 


Smoke, 








32 


Worry, 








34 


If Others Would, . 








35 


Tuberoses, 








36 


Destruction of Flood Rock, 








37 


Inauguration Day, 1887, . 








40 


" Old Folks," 








42 


My Art, 








44 


Amid the Corn, 








46 


The Difference, 








48 


At Sea, 








50 



CONTENTS. 



Not Mine Alone, . 

On Reading Swinburne, 

"Young Society-Darwin, 

En Hiver, 

Evolution, . 

His Potent Pen, 

How She Went Away, 

" Old Liberty Bell," 

The Reason Why, . 

Choosing a Pastor, 

Remember the Poor. 

The Ice Palace, 

The Sea, 

The Granger, 

Somnium Poetae, 

"Sugaring Off," 

Life, . 

A Gobelin Tapestry, 

Beautiful Eyes, 

A Day in Ancient Rome, 

"Mad Rose," 

The Maker of the Bells 

Adele, 

Two Questions, 

Western Justice, . 

The Beautiful Hand, 

To the Stars, . 

A Noted Place, 

Inn-Hospitality, 

Loyed and Lost, 

Our Fault, . 

"The Mind Cure,". 

O Wear a Smiling Face 

A Cristmas Fowl, . 



^12Poem& •§* 



March, thou month of varied weather I 
Mild and frigid joined together — 
" Winter," amorous poets sing, 
" Ling'ring in the lap of Spring." 

Full of reckless threat and bluster 

Thou, like daring filibuster, 
Will not yield thy fitful way, 
Though a king dispute thy sway. 

Month of terror, storm, and blizzard I 
Never work of skillful wizard, 
Though in magic unsurpassed, 
Surer, swifter than the last. 

Period of expectation ! 

Link between the desolation 
And the glory of the year — 
Time of roses drawing near. 



10 POEMS. 

Monarch viewed in many guises 
Giving, as in rare surprises, 

While we stand with cold benumb, 
Hints of balminess to come. 

March, like mortals waxing crazy 
For the arbutus and daisy, 

Violet and crocus-cup 

Round our pathway springing up. 

Timidly the grass is creeping, 
Daffodils awake from sleeping, 
And the long-dismantled woods 
Are alive with bursting buds. 

Sweetest notes are bluebirds trilling, 
Leafless groves with music filling, 
To whose tuneful prophecies 
Every heart responsive is. 

Fickle March ! from thee we borrow 
Rays of promise for the morrow ; 
For are coming, soon or late, 
Perfect days — if we but wait. 



GENEROUS GIVING. 11 

I read of receptions in salons of fashion, 

Of music, militia, and festival bells ; 
Of elegant banquets that ravish the palate, 
Of beauty, enchantress and queen of the ballet, 
In motion as graceful as dancing gazelles. 

I think of Society's doings, and wonder — 

It seems such a foolish and frivolous show — 
If ever were deeds of beneficence fewer, 
If ever a thought of the life that is truer 
Invaded those beings with tinsel aglow. 

Then turn for a moment from glittering splendor, 

And into the hovels of poverty go ; 
To meet peradventure the jeweled patrician 
Abroad on benevolent, heavenly mission, 

Whose kindness alone its recipients know. 

O never again may unworthy reflection . 

Thus picture humanity heartless and gay ; 
For never was more of spontaneous giving 
Or helping to holier, happier living, 

Than brightens the earth to her children to-day. 

Yea, hidden by drapery, diamonds, and gilding, 

Do goodness and opulence tenderly keep 
A corner of love for the fortune-forsaken, 
Of pity for those by adversity shaken, 
A tear for the sad who in solitude weep. 



12 POEMS. 

^wcbition, 

I have not wrought for fame or gold, 

To gain position, praise, or power, 
Nor that I might o'er others hold 

The envied vantage of an hour ; 
For honeyed compliments that lie 

Profuse upon the flatterer's tongue, 
Or Fashion's captive butterfly, 

No song of mine was ever sung. 

I would not dare to while away 

In aimless, apathetic mood 
The precious moments of a day 

Without a care for others' good ; 
And thus in Love's unmeasured stint 

An undercurrent seems to run — 
A wish to bear some helpful hint 

Or bit of cheer to every one. 

On each impulsive act or word 

Whatever merit may depend, 
Is shown when one, in spirit stirred 

To recognize its honest trend, 
Hath been uplifted ; and perchance 

In thankfulness and sympathy. 
Through lonely space by swift advance 

A cordial hand held out to me. 



"BEN HUB." 13 

And so for those who know me true, 

Who've loved me longest, loved me best, 
Because of aught that I may do 

In friendly overtures expressed 
To brighten Life's short pilgrimage, 

Ambition's aim is gratified; 
Though culture, lore, and wisdom sage 

To me forever be denied. 



Scion of an illustrious line 

For ages rich in noble blood, 
That kept, as 'twere a thing divine, 

Its record clear — beyond the Flood ! 

What were a haughty rival's boast 
Compared to thine, of ancient home 

And ancestry, whose dawn at most 
Coeval was with that of Rome ? 

Above, not of, the populace ! 

Born to a prince's proud estate ; 
But driven from thy rightful place 

By harsh vicissitudes of Fate. 

Long service at the galley-oar 

Thy kingly spirit could not crush; 

For Pride in chains than e'er before 

Is stronger, though with conscious blush. 

II— 2 



14 • POEMS. 

What prowess thine, by all admired ! 

That hedged thine adversary in, 
And from " Messala's " grasp aspired 

The victor's laurel crown to win. 

One moment, friend and confidante, 
If lovely " Iras " seemed to thee, 

The next, a heart like adamant 
Was shown by her duplicity. 

The blandishments of cunning art 
In Egypt's fairest daughters were, 

Beside the love of " Esther's " heart, 
Like charms of wicked sorcerer. 

Apollo's self in comeliness, 

Type of thy people Israel ! 
In Roman garb, a Jew no less 

Who loved his land and kindred well. 

champion of thy hapless race ! 

Our sympathies were all with thee 
In thy desire to see His face 

And serve " The King Who Was To Be." 



THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 15 

" Gypsy, skilled in chiromancy, 

Telling fortunes by the hand, 
Satisfy my longing fancy — 

Answer all that I demand ! 

" Dark, mysterious clairvoyant ! 

Is there in my horoscope 
Aught to make my spirits buoyant 

In the promises of hope ? 

" Whisper, soul of divination, 
Thou who canst the future see ! 

Whose the heart in adoration 
Shall its queen acknowledge me ? 

" Or if woe, not weal, betide aie, 

And of life's supremest bliss 
Sweet experience be denied me, 

What shall take the place of this ? " 

Thus a maiden fair and merry, 

On her cheeks the roses' hue, 
Lips the deeper shade of cherry, 

Did the sybil interview. 

" Maiden ! palmistry my art is, 
Leagued am I with powers that be, 

Known to me the human heart is — 
All its guarded mystery. 



16 POEMS. 

" But there's something in thy beauty, 
In thy tone so gay and glad, 

Makes me recreant to my duty 
As a palmist — I am sad. 

" Not always thus hard and wrinkled 
Was the face confronting thine, 

And the love-light never twinkled 
Once in brighter eyes than mine. 

" Years ago had I a daughter, 
Fair and beautiful as thou ; 

How I loved, and loving taught her 
Evil thought to disallow. 

" This sweet child was rudely taken, 
Stolen from my side away ; 

I a wand'rer now forsaken, 

Seek my darling night and day. ? 

" For her sake no drop of sorrow ' 
Would I pour on thy young heart ; 

By the stars, whose aid I borrow, 
Hope and cheer would I impart, j 

" In thy slender palm extended, 7 
Half-afraid my own to touch, 

Lines in pink and white are blended 
Intricate, expressing much. 



PENELOPE. 17 

" This betokens fame and glory 

Thou art destined yet to win ; 
That repeats the * new old story ' 

All thy hopes are centered in. 

" This " — with closer clasp she caught her — 
"Aye ! that mark I know too well — 

Eloise ! my long-lost daughter ! " 
As she tottered, swooned, and fell. 

Wond'ring that such mood befell her, 
Tenderly they raised her head ; 

But, alas ! the fortune-teller — 
She, the gypsy-queen, was dead. 



With new delight again we've read 

The story of Penelope — 
Her patient weaving of the thread 

Into a fabric, fair to see, 
Whose consummation it is said 

Should seal at once her destiny. 

Her task was ever just begun ; 

For artfulness as promptly spoiled, 
As soon as each day's work was done, 

The textile web at which she toiled 

From early morn till set of sun — 

And thus her anxious suitors foiled. 
II— 2* 



18 POEMS. 

0, baffled courtiers ! ye who sued 
A hero's loyal wife to gain ! 

For untold centuries ye have stood 
As targets for the world's disdain ; 

While she, a queen beloved and good, 
Is honored still in Virtue's reign. 

Let modern suppliants profit by 
The lesson, efficacious still 

Though learned, alas ! with face awry ; 
That impolitic, imbecile. 

And " born to rue " are they who try 
To circumvent a woman's will. 



U( W®LvlUx on Vttt |3raxn/' 

'Twas morning ; in the Orient 

The primal rays of daylight shone 
Till field and forest's dim extent 

Took on effulgence, form, and tone ; 
Anon the mountains' misty sides 

In far perspective glistened bright 
As darkness vanished, that divides 

As with a curtain day from night. 

The thrifty farmer, quick astir 
At Chanticleer's familiar notes, 

Doled out to each dumb servitor 
His daily share of corn and oats ; 



" WATER ON THE BRAIN." 19 

And letting down the pasture-bars 

Advantage gave to lowing kine, 
Impatient as untrained hussars 

To break the ranks of fodder-line. 

Then from his ring-streaked, brindled pets, 

Upon a triple-legged stool 
He sat, extracting creamy jets 

To swell the liquid lactage-pool 
Within the pail ; and spryly stepped 

From each to each, and did not bilk 
Till all were vacuous ■ — except 

The cow that gave the buttermilk. 

This frothy fluid, looking pure 

As snowy flakes from Heaven's dome, 
By thirsty city epicure 

Was guzzled in as bovine foam 
Excelsior — until one day 

The cattle, splashing through a bog, 
In some unheard-of, wondrous way, 

Let in the milk a spotted frog 

For so the trembling dealer said, 

Confronted by his customer, 
Who bade him gulp it down instead 

Of shamefully deceiving her ; 
Alas ! his produce he might " brook," 

But could not brook a woman's scoff — 



20 POEMS. 

So with a jerk the can he took 

And tossed its mingled contents off. 

Of course he never told the tale — 

But enterprising rivals say 
Who thrive on his deserted trail : 

" He perished by the ' Milky Way ! ' " 
But, with opinions formed with care, 

Are others who the case explain 
In cruel jest — for they declare 

" 'Twas only water on the brain ! " 



%aa Scroll ! 

A modest violet, azure-eyed, 

Stirred 'neath its dark, protecting mold, 
And whispered, " Why, it can't be cold ! " 

To the slumb'ring daisy by its side ; 
" For I am sure I hear the tread 
Of gentle Spring above my head ! 

" Her touch is making all things bright — 
For where the snow was wont to drift 
Upon our bed, a widening rift 

Lets in the blessed, glad sunlight — 
And I can feel the atmosphere 
So warm, I know that Spring is here ! 



SLEEPING. 21 

" I hear a voice that seems to say, 
As from some far-off vernal bower, 
< Come forth, thou earliest Spring flower ! ' 

It sounds so like the voice of May, 
I think I'll just peep out to see 
If any one is calling me ! " 

And so she did — sweet innocent ! — 
Not knowing that above the ground, 
Grim " Old Jack Frost " was prowling round 

With footstep light, on mischief bent ; 
And, lo ! — he nipped her from her stem 
While north winds sang her requiem ! 

" Too soon ! " cried Daisy, in her bed : 
" The early worm is always caught ! 
Just see what poor, dear Violet got ! 

I'll not be quite so fast ! " she said — 
" But I'll appear at a later hour, 
And be the earliest Spring flower." 



Steeping. 

A little crib I sat beside, 
And watched two stars at eventide 
That silken lashes drooped to hide ; 
I hummed a song and softly stepped, 
And in the dark my vigil kept — 
The stars were out — the baby slept ! 



22 POEMS. 

The handsome Spanish artist brought 

From his enchanting land by night, 
His pictures — a bewitching lot, 

Done all by hand — in pink and white ; 
An " Indian Girl," a masterpiece — 

We mean a miss — terpiece, was placed 
On exhibition — with a crease 

Half way between her chin and waist; 
At which we marveled, much afraid — 

For he was such a taking chap — 
The charming portraiture was made 

While she was sitting on his lap. 
Next came the " Japanese," admired 

By all, from lovely top to toe 
In shining tinselry attired, 

With eyes cut bias, sleeves to flow : 
We took her in until she fell — 

That is, the artist pulled her down — 
And then we saw the stunning belle 

Who captivates and sways the town. 
When " Expectation " came in play 

As graceful as a waterfall, 
We recognized her by the way 

She hung herself upon the wall — 
0, dear ! what language does convey — 

Of course, she didn't hang herself ! 



TABLE A UX. 23 

She sat — or stood — the border lay 

With her — inside — upon a shelf ; 
Can't anybody understand ? 

So much explaining takes up time, 
And " Time is Money " — and we've planned 

A thousand ways for every dime. 
Then later, in that very frame, 

In closest jam — a perfect squeeze, 
The " Merry Wives of Windsor " came 

So tight they didn't dare to breathe ; 
Who was old Windsor, anyhow ? 

Like Brigham Young — an awful "Saint" — 
With wives the law did not allow, 

Who choked them into meek restraint ? 
But then they looked so innocent, 

And seemed to like the Mormon plan, 
To have and hold, and be content 

With but the fraction of a man ; 
We saw " Justitia " serene, 

Who on a tub stood upside down — 
Oh ! why, of course, the tub we mean — 

Now do not criticize and frown ! 
Had she with honest balance weighed 

Her audience, we do aver 
This statuesque, imposing maid 

Had found that all were wanting — her. 
The manager, with ready wit 

That never yet was known to fail, 



24 POEMS. 

Convulsed us by the happy hit 

Of offering the gems for sale ; 
Which made "the pictures" pout and groan, 

When, to avert the war he'd waged, 
He said in more emollient tone 

That they were " nearly all engaged." 
Old " Castle Garden " showed a scene 

That all who've seen it understand, 
For " Jean Crapeau " and " Erin " green 

With " Sauer Kraut " were hand in liand ; 
The " Singing School " wound up the show 

With baton flourish grand and fine, 
And when the people rose to go 

The curtain fell on " Auld Lang Syne." 



Delectable " Holy Land ! " magical book ! 

In thy pages enchanting, I lingering look, 

And oft am transported in rapture, to dwell 

In the midst of the scenes thou portrayest so well. 

With thee, I have crossed the broad ocean, and seem 
To behold every valley and mountain and stream 
That burst on thy vision, and thrilled thee with joy, 
And a memory left, Time can never destroy. 



"HOLY LAND." 25 

Historic Old England I've traversed, and stood 
Beside sculptured tombs of the great and the good ; 
And oft, in Earth's corners neglected, have found 
Lone graves that must ever be hallowed ground. 

The steep Alpine track I have climbed without fear, 
While the sound of the avalanche greeted my ear ; 
And, surmounting those crowns of perpetual snow, 
Looked down on the beautiful valley below. 

From the top of St. Peter's magnificent dome 
In silence surveyed the vast city of Rome 
With thrilling emotions, and tried to recall 
Her glory and grandeur, her pride and her fall. 

Beneath me were streets that once echoed the tread 
Of conquering armies — and there captive led, 
Brave Paul, though in fetters rejoicingly trod, 
And sealed with his life his devotion to God. 

I've been awed by the Sphinx and the Pyramids, while 
Ascending the sacred, mysterious Nile, 
That still floweth on through green valleys, as when 
In Egypt ruled Joseph — a prince among men. 

I've wandered where Thebes, of historic renown, 
That once of the civilized world was the crown, 
In desolate ruins, seems sadly to say, 
Earth's grandeur and glory thus yield to decay. 

3 



26 POEMS. 

But the wish of my heart, my life-dream was fulfilled, 
And with sacred emotions my spirit was thrilled, 
When my gaze rested first on the valleys so green, 
Of that holiest land upon earth — Palestine ! 

There in sweet meditation I " walked by the sea " 
Oft blest by His presence — 0, bright Galilee ! 
And a beautiful picture my memory fills 
Of a mirror, encased in a frame-work of hills. 

I have climbed to the summit, and cannot forget 
The memories that cling around thee, Olivet ! 
What scenes have occurred in Gethsemane's shade, 
Where Jesus hath knelt, and in agony prayed. 

I've " walked about Zion," and lingered to see 
The spot where Redemption was purchased for me ; 
And shared in the deep-thrilling awe that awaits 
The stranger who enters Jerusalem's gates. 

All the teachings of childhood came over me, when 
I followed where He, the dear Saviour of men, 
" Went about doing good" — for wherever He trod, 
Are recognized still — the foot-prints of God. 

glorious Land ! that has witnessed the birth 
And the death of our Saviour — no land upon earth 
More favored than thou — and till life shall depart 
Of thee, blessed memories shall dwell in my heart. 



BLOCK ISLAND. 27 

gtocfe Island, 

Oh ! billow-chafed and wind-swept isle, 

Engirt by rugged seas ; 
Forsaken by the traveler, 
Forgotten by the sojourner, 
Bereft of beauty's grace and smile 

And summer indices ! 

An ocean-field with ice afloat 

Thy crystal setting is ; 
The shifting floe, for daring feet 
That holds but danger and deceit, 
Ere while that rocked the pleasure boat 

And fed the fisheries. 

Through many a league of bleakest space, 

The ray that never dies, 
From storm-beleagured Pharos' light 
On fair Montauk or Watch Hill height, 
Of sail and sailors show no trace 

Beneath the wintry skies. 

As once the bold, intrepid Kane, 

Hero adventurous, 
For weary months environed lay 
A prisoner in an Arctic bay, 
So thou art bosomed in the main — 

A frigid nautilus. 



28 POEMS. 

lonely isle ! the very wave 

That, like a gem impearled, 
Shall hold thee sparkling on its breast 
In bud and bloom and verdure dressed , 
Enfolds thee now as in the grave — 
Cut off from all the world. 



3Hxe Beixv Remaining l r cw 

The touch beneficent of Spring- 
Shall clothe the hill and vale and plain 

With verdure, bloom, and everything 
That makes this world a fair domain ; 

But none of these can gladness bring 
To our sad hearts, or wake the strain 

In other days we used to sing — 
Days that will never come again ! 

Though rich and beautiful her dower 

As ever graced an earthly throne, 
Still desolate the fairest bower 

If we must walk therein alone ; 
Or pass a solitary hour 

No friendly hand to clasp our own ; 
Can song of bird, or hue of flower 

Make up for one dear face or tone ? 



THE DEAR REMAINING FEW. 29 

With heavy pinions hovering, 

It seems that Death is in the air, 
The whole bright world o'ershadowing ; 

For friends are falling everywhere, 
To whom, departed, still we cling ; 

Life's promises were all so fair, 
And in their presence comforting 

We took no note of time or care. 

Around the crumbling walls of clay, 

Their home from ours that now divide, 
In summer-time shall children play 

And lovers walk at eventide ; 
While anguish words cannot portray, 

Our hearts must bear, too oft allied 
To futile questionings why they, 

In grace and beauty, should have died. 

Angel dread ! whose wings have fanned 

The cheeks that bore the roses' hue 
With blighting power, whose fateful hand 

Sweet lips has touched, like poison-dew — 
Behold ! a few yet proudly stand 

Beside us, brave and strong and true ! 
Though but a remnant of our band, 

spare the dear remaining few ! 

3* 



30 POEMS. 

& (Bvcixt finger. 

The tears were dropping softly clown 

Upon my polonaise — 
A velvet vine-embroidered gown, 

A " Dolly Varden craze " — 
When through the door a little maid 

Came with a timid rap, 
And looking up in wonder laid 

A pansy in my lap. 

" Don't cry ! " she said, and turned away, 

And I saw her not for years, 
Whose presence like a sunbeam lay 

Across the path of tears ; 
Till in a Western town one night 

Amid a rapturous throng 
I sat beneath the calcium light, 

To greet the queen of song. 

The debutante, that gifted child, 

Had been beyond the sea, 
And learned to trill the linnet's wild, 

Sweet notes of melody ; 
Had caught the prima donna's role, 

Marchesi's pupil apt, 
And caroled till her tuneful soul 

Grow tremulous and rapt. 



A GREAT SINGER. 

Not Jenny Lind nor Malibran 

Sang more divinely sweet, 
Or held, as only divas can, 

Adorers at their feet ; 
That heavenly maid Calliope, 

Among her worshipers, 
Had been distraught with jealousy 

To hear a voice like hers. 

But while the world in homage bowed 

To recognize her gift, 
I only saw a sable cloud 

Through which a golden rift 
Of sunlight cleared the mists away ; 

And standing in the gap 
Was she who laid, on that sad clay, 

A pansy in my lap. 

cantatrice ! sing for aye, 

And still be good and kind 
As when witli childish naivete' 

My sorrow you divined ; 
And for your Fame-crowned womanhood, 

While dear affection swells 
With thoughts of " Auld Lang Syne " renewed, 

Accept Love's immortelles. 



31 



32 POEMS. 

jgwofee. 

'Twas a zero morn, and the air was keen 

As a glittering blade of Damascene, 

And gathering frost on the window told 

An icy tale of the piercing cold ; 

From savory viands that formed the base 

Of the matin meal — and a whispered grace — 

I watched the vapors curling away 

From a thousand flues in the morning gray, 

And thus to my jubilant vis-a-vis, 

Who like a comet eclipses me, 

With sudden thought impetuous spoke : 

" Why, what becomes of the clouds of smoke ? " 

Do they center and form those misty piles 

That drink in light like beautiful isles 

On the boundless face of the sea of sky ? 

Or low on Orion, like shadows nigh, 

Untold anathemas bringing down 

For tingeing astral castles brown, 

Do they tell star-dwellers what earth must be 

By its dense, exhalant impurity ? 

That light and grace and bloom we lack, 

Our globe is drear and our skies are black, 

Earth's denizens never bereft of a tear 

Because of the poisonous atmosphere ? 



SMOKE. 33 

Or away on some old plantation ground 
Where freedmen's cabins cluster round, 
And Dinah's bit of tinder stuff 
Emits one feeble, flickering puff, 
Do fumes of Northern wood and coal 
With Southern exhalations roll, 
And like the clasp of friendly hands 
Above those reunited lands 
In mingled waves suffuse the air — 
And, like the blessing after prayer, 
Descend on grass-grown battle plains 
In winter snows or summer rains ? 

Do they circle away in vanishing lines 

To rest on the tops of soughing pines 

In the wilderness where the moose-deer roams 

As wild as Zulus in Afric' homes ; 

Where anglers revel encamped about 

The limpid haunts of the speckled trout, 

Where the lumber-camp and woodman's axe 

Efface the wild opossum's tracks ; 

Where Androscoggin's waters sweep 

A mighty pathway to the deep, 

And honest Dow and Statesman Blaine 

Adorn like stars the brow of Maine ? 

Or are they wafted, soon or late, 
To El Dorado's " Golden Gate," 



34 POEMS. 

And tossed about by every gale 
That rends Pacific's stoutest sail, 
But redwood giants move mo more 
Than Zephyr's breath the iron door ? 
Perchance like nebulas awhile 
They hang o'er Santa Barbara's isle; 
Precursor of discomfort hid 
In the weary heart of the invalid, 
To whom the months' incessant rain 
And sunshine's loss is added pain. 

wandering vapors ! like the breeze 

That rocks the navies of the seas — 

To intermix with London fog 

The city's arteries to clog, 

Or dimly veil the face serene 

Of proud Britannia's sovereign queen — 

Though North or South, or West or East 

Diffusing like the foamy yeast, 

errant vapors ! lost in space 

Like shreds of fine illusion lace, 

To other worlds bear not the joke 

That ours is wreathed in tobacco-smoke! 



Contentment reigning in the heart 
Knows never fuss nor flurry ; 

It is not work that wears one out 
But everlasting worry. 



IF OTHERS WOULD. §5 

%t ©titers W&oultX. 

If other human beings had 

The goodness that is his, 
The tender love and sympatic, 

The winning courtesies, 
This world would never be the vale 

Of sorrow that it is. 

If other mortals would extend 

A helping hand to those 
Who, by untoward Fate, endure 

Misfortune's cruel blows, 
Prosperity and happiness 

Would blossom as the rose. 

If others would but learn of him, 

In hearts of gratitude 
Who must forever be enshrined — 

0, if they only would, 
Each in his own appointed place 

Might do a world of good ! 

No preacher nor philosopher, 

Nor saintly acolyte, 
More clearly understands that Earth 

Cannot be Eden quite — 
And yet he bears a cheerful part 

In setting it aright. 



36 POEMS. 

rarest of flowers ! that seem to exhale 

On the stillness of air, or the breath of the gale, 

All effluent odors in botany shrined ; 

The volatile essences richly combined 

Of orchis diffusions, deliciously blent 

With lavender, orange, and balsamine scent. 

No jessamine chalice or hyacinth vase, 
No mignonette-perfumed or blossoming space 
Of violets redolent, dewy and sweet, 
With delicate fragrance is half so replete, 
As one of these exquisite florets that hold 
The cream of aroma in waxen-like mold. 

There's a " Flowery Kingdom " way over the sea, 

The home of the Mongol, the " heathen Chinee" — 

But why this cognomen of fanciful sound 

Applies to their bit of terrestrial ground, 

No pundit can tell, be he ever so wise, 

And chance if Confucius himself could surmise. 

But Yankees, quick-witted and willing to guess, 

Are equally ready and free to confess — 

By " coolies " imported who slavishly toil 

As cheap as the dirt on American soil — 

That every known spot where a Chinaman dwells 

Is held in remembrance — because of its " smells/' 



DESTRUCTION OF FLOOD ROCK. 37 

And so, to preserve our dear continent free 
From Eastern effluvium, what can there be 
More potent and lasting in counter-effect, 
The dainty olfactory sense to protect, 
Than lovely tuberoses, ambrosial and rare, 
In fine distillations suffusing the air ? 

And as in the ocean when refuse is tossed, 

By free salination impurity's lost, 

So these liliaceous corolla-cups bear 

In happier living a recognized share ; 

And prove their beneficence, beauty, and worth 

Refining, adorning, and sweetening earth. 



gestrxictiou of fflood %oth. 

restless man ! unsatisfied 

With Earth whence sprung thy parent-tree, 
Upon whose branches far and wide 

Hang jewels of thy pedigree, 
Fair scions touched with family pride 

That marks their true heredity ! 

Doth not this mundane planet, graced 
With light and bloom and beauty sweet, 

By its Designer firmly placed 
Beneath thy own inconstant feet, 

Respond to thy fastidious taste, 
Or its requirements kindly meet ? 



38 POEMS. 

The cascade leaping from its source, 
A crystal spring upon the hill, 

Becomes a mighty water-course 
Subservient to thy slightest will, 

And gives of its unfailing force 

To guide the loom or turn the mill. 

The monarchs of the forest bow 

Beneath the sturdy woodman's axe, 

The glebe unrolls before the plow 
A furrow for the yeoman's tracks, 

And science from the mountain-brow 
Discerns a planet's parallax. 

The billowy sea, that danced and laughed 
And man's dominion long defied, 

Bears on its bosom princely craft — 
Palatial ships that proudly glide ; 

Or flying sail that breezes waft 

With speed that rivals time and tide. 

Yet combating alike rebuff 

Or ridicule, unlimited 
Is man's ambition — not enough 

The scope of his victorious tread 
Till ocean-reefs, sea-chafed and rough, 

Are riven in their stonv bed. 



DESTRUCTION OF FLOOD BOCK. 39 

A little hand so soft and white 

Impels the swift electric spark, 
The hidden fuse that shall ignite 

In submarine recesses dark, 
Which like a flash of Heaven's light 

Goes straight to its projected mark. 

As if the dreaded Typhoon gale 

Had vexed the spirit of the main, 
Uprose an instantaneous wail 

Of subterranean rage and pain ; 
As when that ancient temple-vail 

By power divine was rent in twain. 

As if Titanic power lay 

In youth's dexterity and grace, 
Or as a giant would convey 

Neptunian rocks through airy space, 
So scattered fragments leagues away 

Of sunken ledges wrenched apace. 

Rejoice, mariner ! to thee 

Shall " Hell-Gate " nevermore present 

An obstacle that may not be 
By man's devices circumvent, 

Till hither vessels ride as free 
As Arab from his desert-tent. 



40 POEMS. 

As calm succeds the tempest's roar, 

So elements are reconciled ; 
Now, conqueror of sea and shore, 

Since " Peace on Earth " again hath smiled, 
Be thou contented evermore 

And led — as by a little child ! 



Inauguration gatj, X887. 

Ascending smoke from countless flues, 

Like floating nebulae, 
Hung over snowy avenues 

As trackless as the sea ; 
Where rural lane and city street 

Unbroken stretches lay, 
Beneath the sun that rose to greet 

Inauguration Day. 

Inspirited by fife and drum, 

Militia bands enrolled, 
From office, bench, and counter come 

Like minute-men of old ; 
A glittering retinue, who led 

The chosen ruler's way 
With serried ranks and martial tread, 

Inauguration Da v. 



INA UO URA T10N DA Y, 1887. 41 

Not fairer was that world renowned, 

Suburb Pantheon dome, 
That like a storied temple crowned 

Antique and classic Rome, 
Than Hartford's stately edifice, 

In festival array 
Like some enthroned impe'ratrice, 

Inauguration Day. 

Proud Capitol ! in chiseled grace 

Like beauty's sculptured queen, 
Environing in council space 

A grand impressive scene, 
That angels must have thrilled to see ; 

Who registered for aye 
Those solemn vows of fealty, 

Inauguration Day. 

As governors thus -come and go, 

May each unsullied be 
And wear like garments of the snow 

The robe of purity ; 
In fair Connecticut — our State — 

May rectitude hold sway, 
And love of justice consecrate 

Inauguration Day. 



42 POEMS. 

"(Met Mollis." 

Mysteries of election clay 
Yet had scarcely cleared away, 
Ere attention all was drawn 
To a strange phenomenon — 
Wondrous transformation rare 
Happening at our fancy "Fair." 

In the twinkling of an eye — 
Not a shade of reason why — 
Rosy maidens, laughing-eyed, 
Ruddy youth, our hope and pride, 
All their bloom and freshness lost — 
Like carnations nipped by frost. 

Heads as suddenly grew white 
As if due to awful fright, 
While the sobriquet "Antiques" 
Rose from costume's crazy freaks ; 
For such robes, put on at dark, 
Might have come from " Noah's ark." 

Spirit full of revelry, 

First appeared in ecstasy 

She whose ruff and spacious dress 

Marked the days of good " Queen Bess " 

While our modern queen took on 

Style of " Martha Washington." 



"OLD FOLKS" 43 

"George " was hanging round near by — 

He who could not " tell a lie " — 

When the " flour-pot," he said, 
" Had been emptied on his head," 

We believed him, — for we knew — 

By his locks — it must be true ! 

Charmed by " Jacob's " fluent tongue, 
To his arm, confiding, clung 
" Rachel " — saucy, sweet, and quaint — 
Far from being solemn saint ! 
Even in grandmother's cap, 
Still admired by many a chap ! 

Could it be that " fourteen years' " 

Alternating hopes and fears, 

Waiting for his " Rachel " fair, 

Thus had bleached out " Jacob's " hair — 

Carved his alabaster skin, 

Put those extra wrinkles in ? 

Clad in antiquated rig, 

Snowy cue and periwig, 

Polished, graceful, well at ease, 

Prodigal in arts to please, — 

Who'd have thought that courtly man 

Was " our bashful, modest Dan ? " 

Thus, in highest style of art, 
Each so well assumed his part 



44 POEMS. 

In fantastic, odd disguise, 
That we scarce could recognize 
One of that capricious set 
Whom an hour before we met. 

Sweet delusion ! born to last 
Only till the " Fair " had passed ! 
For with morn's succeeding dawn 
Every trace of age was gone ; 
While the " box receipt " supply 
" Our piano " helped to buy. 



As if my unpretending rhymes 

Publicity might ever claim, 
Or echo rapture as in chimes 

Resounding from the bells of Fame ! 
I never dreamed of such renown, 

And only wrote because my heart 
Provoked the same resistless frown 

Whene'er I tried to fetter art. 

The solemn grandeur of the sea, 
The beauty of the summer sky, 

The song-bird's revel, wild and free, 
In rhythm spake to ear and eye, 

Till melody possessed my soul ; 



MY ART. 45 

And Poesy, as if astir 
The measured numbers to control, 
Became its meet interpreter. 

And other hearts that throbbed as mine, 

Intensified and thrilled no less, 
Grew covetous of every line 

So facile-traced that could express 
Their undivulged, unuttered thought ; 

And praised each lyric pseudo gem, 
And gratefully the singer sought 

In metric strains who sang for them. 

I have not borrowed of the books 

That teach symmetric, polished phrase, 
Nor delved in musty, classic nooks ; 

Nor dared to penetrate the maze 
Of Concord's deep philosophy — " 

And Buddhist fallacies I hate ; 
For never shall my Heaven be 

An aimless, vague, Nirvana-state. 

But narrow-sphered to critic sight, 

Have I with true, unsullied pen 
In kindliness essayed to write 

As one who loves his fellow-men ; 
And when my gift persisted in 

Hath wakened some accordant note, 
It hath to me sweet solace been 

And Sorrow's potent antidote. 



46 POEMS. 

As use and polish render bright 

The rusty cimeter of steel, 
So poor endowments turned aright 

An unsuspected grace reveal ; 
And thus I dream, and feel, and know 

That in celestial atmosphere, 
To full fruition yet shall grow 

The bud of talent lent me here. 



When roasting ears are peeping through 

Their silken tassel curls, 
When corn leaves glisten in the dew 

Like ribbons strewn with pearls ; 
When Phcebus' splendor is revealed 

And gilds the summer morn, 
I love .to walk the furrowed field 

Among the rows of corn. 

It brings to mind those vanished days 

In adolescence sweet, 
When through familiar seas of maze 

With ardent, childish feet 
That never tired, the glebe 1 trod 

The " hired man " to warn 
Where grew the tares, or where a clod 

Obstructed hills of corn. 



AMID THE CORN. 47 

A happy home upon the farm 

In memory holds a place, 
That city life with all its charm 

Can never quite efface. 
give me back the days of yore ! 

When I, a farmer born, 
In pantalet and pinafore 

Grew up amid the corn. 

that I could to nature true 

From etiquette relax, 
And follow, as I used to do, 

Papa's unerring tracks ! 
A scholar, who could wield the pen, 

Whose honors well were borne, 
Was he — this noblest, best of men — 

Who plowed and hoed the corn. 

I'd rather be, though dumb and droll, 

An effigy to-day, 
A man of straw upon a pole 

To scare the crows away, 
Than like a figure fashion-spun 

A palace to adorn, 
Disdainfully look down on one 

Who works amid the corn. 



48 POEMS. 

Jptc Jl inference- 

Love is no restricted part 

Of a woman's trusting heart, 

Balancing in like degrees 

Other traits and qualities, 

Like a " corner lot " of bliss 

In its guarded edifice ; 

Tis her very life wrapped up 

In the secret treasure cup 

Of her soul — its vital sense 

Holding proud pre-eminence 

Over every other thought ; 

'Tis a ray supernal caught 

From effulgence round the Throne 

" God is Love " — and He alone. 

Love in man is little more 
Than a ripple passing o'er 
The deep current of a life 
With untold diversions rife ; 
Either knotty points of law 
All his aspirations draw, 
Or resistless struggles he 
With some new theology ; 
Or, as children play with blocks, 
Notes the rise and fall of stocks, 



THE DIFFERENCE. 49 

Fraternizes " bulls and bears," 
Speculating unawares 
Till his soul in not a cleft 
Hath for love a " margin " left. 

Maiden with the blooming cheek, 
But a word to thee we speak ; 
If a man shall say : " To you, 
0, my love ! my heart is true 
As the needle to the pole — 
Day-star art thou of my soul ! 
If thou look disdainfully 
On my suit, repelling me, 
All the solace that I crave 
Shall be this — an early grave — 
And the finale to thy scoff, 
My untimely taking off ! " 
Do not on his words rely — 
Just for love men never die ! 

But, creation's lord, if thou 
Cherishest a mutual vow, 
Do not, we admonish thee, 
Let the monster jealousy 
Drive thy sweetheart to despair ; 
Tempting her to say : " Beware, 
Faithless one ! do not forget 
Love shall be requited yet ; 



50 POEMS. 

Glistening on yonder green 
Shall a double cross be seen'; 
Since thy perfidy I've known 
I will die — but not alone ! " 
believe her — sure as fate 
She will do it — soon or late ! 



M Jfea. 

The victim of miscarried plans, 
This rueful self, as all may see, 
A pouting " ward in chancery," 
Perforce abideth yet on lands 
As hot as arid desert-sands ; 
But that immortal spirit-part, 
Mine alter ego, longing heart, 
Whatever it may be, 
Is far away at sea. 

Like unspent geysers pours the heat, 
O'erflows its crucible of brass, 
Makes crispy sward of verdant grass. 
To lava-beds converts the street, 
And sears the soles of tender feet ; 
While dear copartners wonder much 
If this intense caloric touch 
Affects my fancies free — 
never ! I'm at sea ! 



AT SEA. 51 

What though the torrid atmosphere 
This " too, too solid flesh " transform 
Into a compound soft and warm, 
And sad companions drop a tear 
O'er one who lies unburied here ! 
It is not I — I'm on the wave — 
In cool circumfluence I lave 
And pure felicity, 
A nereid of the sea. 

Seek I a kingdom ? 'tis the main ! 
Where I may smile at billows high, 
The vortex of the deep defy, 
Consort with him whose potent reign 
Encompasses the watery plain ; 
Or with admiring, ardent eyes 
Behold the glorious sunset skies, 
In rainbow mystery, 
That beautify the sea. 

Mais il est mat a propos though. 
That some resistless, secret art 
Hath forced the spirit to depart ; 
For everywhere I chance to go, 
That is — this empty shell — I know 
That friends who value my caress 
Remark my absent-mindedness, 
And wish the soul of me 
Were not so far — at sea. 



52 POEMS. 

The landscape, that in verdure glows 
With all the freshness of the rose, 
In myriad forms of beauty, throws 

A spell of rapture o'er me ; 
As like a queen upon her throne, 
From lofty parapet alone 
I view, admire, and call my own 

The hills and vales before me. 

Yes ; all is mine, of beauty wrought 
By superhuman skill and thought — 
A priceless heritage, which naught 
Can wrest from my possession 
While satellites in splendor shine, 
And joyous sounds, and prospects fine, 
On every thrilling sense combine 
To make their true impression. 

In rare, pellucid atmosphere, 
Through tangled boughs afar I peer — 
Receptacles of hidden cheer 

In fruitage, ripe and ruddy ; 
Like odd designs in arabesque, 
Though wild, fantastic, and grotesque, 
Presenting scenes so picturesque 

I fain would pause to study. 



ON READING SWINBURNE. 55 

Might awaken deep unrest ; 
Fire the blood of one possessed 
Even of a royal crest, 
Scion of a kingly line. 

Thine is matchless eloquence — 

Thou a benefactor born ! 
As, endowed with prescience, 
Thou dost search out vain pretense 
'Neath the garb of innocence, 
And in true benevolence 

Hold it up to human scorn. 

Does that winged steed Pegasus — 

He who threw Belle rophon — 
Risky as a blunderbuss, 
Frisking round so mischievous, 
Ever show his animus 
Mettlesome, and hazardous 

To thy safety, Algernon ? 

As enchanted we peruse 

Stanzas rich in polished lore, 
Envy we the power that woos, 
In Parnassian interviews 
With thy generous patron muse, 
Favors none knew how to use 

Half so gracefully before. 



56 POEMS. 

Who so prodigal to thee ? 

King of meters, tell us, do ! 
Is it fair Calliope — 
Goddess eloquent is she — 
Or divine Melpomene ? 
Tell thy secret, so may we 

Importune the muses, too ! 

For, Swinburne ! to thy height 

We — poor publican afar — 
Downcast and despairing quite, 
Dare not lift our eyes, but smite 
On our bosom day and night ; 
Thou the sun in splendor bright - 
We, not even a tiny star ! 



ttGfr 



ijouug ^ocicty-ganuiu." 

In vestments fine, the latest plan, 
The tailor had arrayed him ; 

His low-necked jacket, light rattan, 
And staring lens betrayed him ; 

But in our hearts we never can 
Find language to upbraid him, 

But try to call this thing — a man ! 
Because the Lord hath made him. 



NOT MINE ALONE. 53 

In parting benison benign 

The sunset glow, like mellow wine, 

Irradiates this wealth of mine 

With marvelous refulgence ; 
Like that a mortal blest perceives 
On " one of those ambrosial eves 
A day of storms so often leaves," 

To crown its wild indulgence. 

The aureole, o'er field and town, 
Might tempt a wandering seraph down 
To view that iridescent crown 

Whose brilliance so enchants me. 
1 can but wonder if it be 
The splendor of reality, 
. Through some supernal agency, 

Or due to necromancy. 

All beauty, charm, and novelty 
Beneatli the sky, is not for me 
Alone the heritage ; for he 

Who hath an ear to hear it, 
Or eye to see — it matters not — 
With true esthetic ardor fraught, 
May claim whatever God hath wrought 

For eye, and ear, and spirit. 

And who, with highest sense endued, 
From boundless riches, oft renewed, 
11— 5* 



54 POEMS. 

Would choose the best of all that's good, 
Will find his chief employment 

In lonely haunt, or busy mart, 

In searching out that valued part; 

To treasure it within his heart, 
A well-spring of enjoyment. 



©n Steading ^nviulmrne. 

Poet! thou hast wondrous art, 

Rare as necromantic skill ! 
Thou canst touch the coldest heart, 
Life and love to it impart, 
Make the crystal tear-drop start 
As, unchained, thy fancies dart 
Hither, thither, at thy will. 

Words but playthings are to thee — 
Which like happy child among 

Thou dost revel fearless, free, 

Leaping oft the boundary 

Of conventionality, 

By the strength of imagery 
In thy metric mother-tongue. 

Taken at thy very best, 

There's a " lilt in every line " 
That, in rude plebeian breast, 



EN HIVER. 57 



Le long de la rue neigeuse, 
Dans la saison rigoureuse, 

Je passe souvent, 
Tout oubliant la tempete 
Qui frappe autour de ma tete 

Furieusement. 

Sans peur, sans souci, sans peine, 
Je marche comme une reine, 

Essayant avoir 
L' air bon ; rencontrant Forage 
A bras ou verts, raon visage 

Eclatant d'espoir. 

Sous son tapis blanc la terre, 
Une grande mer de verre. 

Quand vient le printemps 
Fleurira comme la rose ; 
Nous dounant beaucoup de cause 

Pour contentement. 

Parmi la neige a l'aurore, 
Ou en regardant la flore, 

Je me satisfais ; 
Car 1' etoile d'esperance 
Peint le ciel de l'existence 

Le teint violet. 



58 POEMS. 

%V8lUtX0U. 

Ho, everybody ! an hour purloin 
From time's brief distribution 

Of leisure moments, just to join 
The " class in evolution." 

To all the world tuition's free — 
A school with no defection, 

No begging for admission-fee,- 
And better, no collection. 

Did love for geologic laws, 
The all-prevailing passion, 

Lead us ? Oh, no ! we went because 
To go was all the fashion. 

For we had loved to stare at stars 

On some ambrosial even ; 
Or, through the moonlight's argent bars, 

Look longingly to Heaven. 

Or, far removed from haunts of men, 
This mundane sphere forgetting, 
. Admire that distant sky-land when 
The golden sun was setting. 

Then, presto ! what a fall was there ! 

As landed 'mid the strata 
Of subterranean regions, where 

The darkness dims the data. 



EVOLUTION. 59 

In eloquent, unwritten speech, 

Defying skill of sages, 
To read what rocks so grandly teach 

About the vanished ages. 

How wonderful ! that science can 

Bridge o'er the mighty chasm 
Between the dear, developed man 

And shapeless bioplasm. 

Yet, every mite that ever groped 

Before or after Noah 
Is classified and microscoped, 

And labelled " Protozoa." 

By evolution laws we find, 

Though dimly comprehended, 
That vertebrates of human kind 

Are from a worm descended. 

Again 'tis said — does logic fall ? — 

Because we've heard a dozen 
Times, at least, that every whale 

Is our primeval cousin. 

Propounding theories like these 

Nobody seems to bother ; 
And we may choose whate'er we please 

For our revered forefather. 



60 POEMS. 

Imagination runs away — 
For what is there to hinder, 

When all the wise logicians say 
That water is a cinder ? 

In his most lucid interval 

Did anybody think it — 
That aqua, too, is a mineral ? 

And so, how dare we drink it ? 

So marvelous and plausible 

Are these advanced ideas 
Unto a world already full 

Of ills — and panaceas, . 

And all explained in tones as clear 
As softly tinkling cymbal ; 

Not sounding brass beguiles the ear, 
But cultured Mr. Kimball. 

But, touching our ancestral tree, 

Our filial doting spirit 
Resents the thought, and sighs that we 

Were ever born to hear it. 

By turns we scowl and smile and grieve. 

Then grow severely spunky ; 
Because we never will believe 

That man — was once a monkey ! 



HIS POTENT PEN Ql 

A power was his unique and strange, 

That held the world entranced ; 
Beyond whose utmost, loftiest range, 

By easy flights advanced, 
He soared, and wrought amid the stars 
The diction that no blemish mars. 

He touched his pen and moved so free — 

Because he willed it so — 
The waves of Thought's tremendous sea ; 

Whose ever-widening flow 
Still circled in controlling reach 
Of purpose marked by polished speech. 

What was it lay in a bit of steel, 

A nib of gold, or quill, 
That made the world accordant feel 

As touched with tender thrill ? 
Why, only this — his potent pen 
Was dipped in love for his fellow-men ! 



We bade her good-night, looking into her eyes 
Already that shone with celestial surprise, 
And when we returned — a brief interval-space — 
A beautiful angel had taken her place. 



62 POEMS. 

"®X& %mvtu, fell." 

0, Liberty herald ! thy echoes I hear, 
As down through the century, year after year, 
The resonant voice that our forefathers knew, 
Triumphant and thrilling, still loyal and true, 
In pseans rings out o'er the land that we love, 
Proclaiming good-will to the people thereof. 

In thy reverberations sonorously mix 

With the patriot spirit of Seventy-Six, 

The soul, that seems wafted from some distant shore 

As if intervening, rough seas passing o'er, 

Of " Old Independence," obedience to God, 

Resistance to tyrants at home and abroad. 

From the bosom of Earth wast thou, Liberty Bell, 

In crude metal taken, and fashioned so well, 

And by skillful artificer given a tongue 

In the City of Brotherly Love that first rung, 

As Victory's bright, starry pennon unfurled 

To the uplifted gaze of a wondering world. 

Old Liberty Bell ! though corroded with rust, 

And choked and half-buried 'neath undisturbed dust, 

And haplessly cracked on that memorable day 

In overstrained efforts to greet Henry Clay, 

Thy clarion notes of the past resound yet, 

Recalling the days we would never forget. 



THE REASON WHY. 63 

Now, Liberty Bell, on thy way to the South, 
Thy history travels before; every mouth 
Can the story repeat of the stirring events 
That led to the birth-day of Freedom — and hence 
To our proud elevation, and paramount worth — 
Admired and honored all over the Earth. 

May favors auspicious thy wand'rings attend, 
And greetings fraternal from Northern hearts blend 
With those of our neighbors, till courtesies kind 
Shall " many in one" so harmoniously bind, 
That in jubilant tones shall thy aged tongue tell 
Of a country united, Liberty Bell ! 



The bobolink and oriole 

Are wild with blithesome singing ; 
Each pouring out his happy soul 
In gleeful notes beyond control, 

Till melody is ringing 
In forest, field, and orchard gay 
With countless blossoms' rich array. 

The pendant leaf is never still, 

The bending twigs are dancing 
As if in rapt, accordant thrill 



64 POEMS. 

With every fresh, spontaneous trill 
From tuneful throats, enhancing 
The gladness and the glory of 
Sweet May, the month that warblers love. 

Hilarious lad and romping lass, 

Alert in vigor bounding, 
Come unawares in meadow grass 
On many an interwoven mass 

Of fibers fine, surrounding 
That little world where bird and mate 
In hope exultant watch and wait. 

Thus every nest, half-hidden by 
The verdure round it growing, 

A home reveals — explaining why 

So gaily sing and lightly fly 

The feathered songsters ; knowing 

That in their promised fledgeling brood 

Shall song and rapture be renewed. 

So, like the birds, the heart doth sing 

In dulcet tone and meter, 
That hath some fond, endearing thing 
'Round which its -tendrils twine and cling; 

So is existence sweeter 
To one who holds in cherished thought 
Some love-encircled, home-like spot. 



CHOOSING A PASTOR. 6$ 



Now this is what the deacon said : 

(May blessings crown each saintly head !) 

" For leagues around we've sought to find 

Some one to fill the place 
Who shall our hearts together bind ; 
An honest man as God designed, 
With earnest purpose, cultured mind, 

And liberal share of grace." 

Then anxious parents had their say : 
(Whose scions claim the right of way !) 

" Before the winning flag unfurls 

We clamor for the youth ; 
'Mid business cares, in social whirls 
We cannot train our boys and girls — 
Before them, he must scatter pearls 

Of wisdom and of truth ! " 

The young men exercised their brains : 
(And for a while forgot their canes !) 

" We want a man about our size, 
A manly, whole-souled, genial chap, 

II— 6* 



66 POEMS. 

Who, though he may have won the prize 
In Greek and Hebrew exercise, 
Can catch a base-ball as it flies, 
Or wear the umpire's cap ! " 

The lovely maidens shook their curls 
And said : — (Oh, my ! what saucy girls !) 

" Now we won't have a pastor prim 
Or grave, with carping tongue ! 

He must be handsome, tall, and slim, 

Our cavalier in twilight dim, 

And we'll lay down our lives for him — 
Of course, he must be young ! " 

The populace at large chimed in : 
(Who dodge the missiles aimed at sin !) 

" He may be prophet, king, or priest, 

A ' Tabernacle Saint ' 
Who has his congregation fleeced, 
For aught we care — but this at least 
We want — an intellectual feast 

Without sectarian taint ! " 

Thus everybody aired his views 
About the kind of man 



REMEMBER TEE POOR. 67 

Our wealthy, cultured church should choose 
To wear our " Reverend Idol's " shoes ; 
But no one dreamed he might refuse 
To come, and spoil our plan. 

In course of time we half agreed 

A certain man might do, 
Who seemed to apprehend our need ; 
But, though particular indeed, 
It never entered in " our creed " 

That he might be so, too. 

And so, at last, we gave a call 

To him that, to our mind, 
Appeared embodiment of all 
That we had hoped for — pretty, tall, 
Whose many virtues might appall 
The careless world in evil thrall ; 
In eloquence, bereft of drawl ; 
As copious as a waterfall, 
Whose bump of avarice was small, 
Whom we believed adept at ball ; 

And he — why, he — declined ! 



A far greater blessing to us 't will insure, 
And a mansion in Heaven will help to secure, 
If we have in kindness remembered the poor. 



68 POEMS. 

%\xt gee gatace. 

In crystalline splendor a sight to behold, 
It rose like Jerusalem's temple of old ; 

No sound of a hammer was there, 
But block upon block, from the ice-harvest cold 
Dissevered and chiseled in exquisite mold, 

Made up its proportions so fair. 

Within its broad galleries gracefully wrought, 
As solid expressions of fanciful thought, 

A million of luminous beams 
More brilliant than stellar rays lighted the spot 
That shone like a mermaid's sub-aqueous grot, 

Or the wonderful fabric of dreams. 

No cavern stalactic down under the ground, 
With drops of bi-carbonate oozing around 

In pensile, calcareous cones ; 
No ice-impearled castle has ever been found 
With iridal colors so gorgeously crowned 

As this — of prismatical stones. 

As if all the rainbows that ever the sun 
Had kissed into being were blended in one, 

An arcade of frostwork and dews ; 
So gleamed in transparency filaments spun 
By embryo artists — as chromos begun 

Abounding in scintillant hues. 



THE ICE PALACE. 69 

Not like the renowned Coliseum of Rome, 



A structure upreared from foundation to dome 

By men who wore Slavery's gyves ; 
But Liberty's sons, as if building a home, 
Toiled day after day — as with honey and comb 
Do busy bees labor in hives. 

A city-full poured through its glistening halls, 
Its gelid, pellucid, and argentine walls 

Where traffickers offered their wares ; 
Tobogganers awkward in blankets and shawls 
Who struggled as if with Niagara Falls 

Ascending the slippery stairs. 

With flambeau, and rocket, and oriflamme bright, 
The Fire King leading his cohorts by night, 

In uniform scarlet and gold, 
Besieged the Ice Monarch who ordered aright, 
And routed with snow-balls the enemy's light 

And left them in darkness and cold. 

The King of the carnival pompously grown 
From homage to him so obsequious shown, 

Like Xerxes reviewing his fleet, 
In royal habiliments sat on his throne 
And issued commands in imperious tone 

To vassalry bowed at his feet. 

The festival Queen in bewitching array, 
As fair as a maid of Circassia to-day, 



70 POEMS. 

With cheeks like twin roses aglow, 
Environed by courtiers and satellites gay 
Regina, the favorite, tempered her sway 

As Helios softens the snow. 

yfc tJv yp 7P Tfi vfc yf: ^ 

The fete had gone by — but the sovereign pair, 
Who gave to the scene a nobility air, 

As icicles lovingly cling 
To the roof of a mansion, in happy despair 
Had frozen together and fast to the chair — 
Borealis and bride ! who will have to stay there 

Till palaces melt in the spring. 



%\xz Shot. 

it was luxury to feel 
The vital force renewed, 

Upon the Crescent strand to kneel 
In silent gratitude, 

And drink the ocean-breezes in 

Like cordial balm or medicine ! 

Rejuvenescence in the air, 
As borne on pinions fleet, 

Betrayed its touch in faces fair 
And quick, elastic feet, 

And bounding pulse of all in quest 

Of comfort, happiness, and rest. 



THE SEA. 71 

What mystery is like the sea ? 

Enhancing Life's brief length 
By added years' sweet guarantee, 

Recruiting health and strength ; 
And yet the yawning sepulcher 
For many a happy voyager. 

Is it some sad, remorseful throb 

Provokes its wild unrest, 
That thousands it has dared to rob 

Of whom they loved the best, 
And thus — 0, irony of Fate ! 
Bereaved ones seeks to compensate ? 

As well might we essay to solve 

The riddle of the Sphinx, 
As from Oceanus evolve 

That chain of mystic links 
That fetters in obscurity 
The dark enigma of the sea. 

How strange ! its benefits to crave 

With ardent impetus, 
Or choose rencounter with the wave, 

So often treacherous, 
That holds in its profound abyss 
A vast, marine necropolis. 



72 POEMS. 

£te (granger. 

Look not upon him with disdain, 

Ye dwellers in the town ; 
Nor wax facetious as ye mark 

His homespun garb of brown. 

" Only a Granger," say the rich, 

The favored upper ten ; 
And Madame Grundy shuts her doors 

On Nature's noblemen. 

" Only a Granger," scoffing cry 
The Wall street bulls and bears, 

Who deal in futures, puts, and calls, 
Gambling in watered shares, 

And scorn the honest son of toil, 

Who fills a useful place ; 
Who grows, but does not corner, wheat, 

Nor grinds the poor man's face. 

" Only a Gwanjah," lisp the dudes, 
Those beings minus brains ; 

Their habitat, convivial clubs, 
Their food, the heads of canes. 

" Only a Granger," do you say ? 

Aye, but his labor gains 
The daily bread of myriads, 

And all mankind sustains. 



THE GRANGER. 73 

The city's countless denizens, 

The lowly and the great, 
On him depend ; his toil supports 

The fabric of the state. 

All honor to the upright men 

Who till our acres broad ; 
By tens of thousands they marched forth 

For country, right, and God, 

When dark Secession raised her torch, 

With parricidal hand, 
To light the fires of civil strife 

In our erst-happy land. 

And country-nurtured statesmen oft 

In halls of Congress sit, 
Who yield to none in intellect, 

Ability, or wit. 

While dudes adjust their single lens, 

Or puff the " Cameo," 
The farmer ponders the nation's weal, 

E'en as he plies the hoe. 

Ye dandies, reverence this man, 

In coat of faded hue ; 
Ye are not worthy to unloose 

His dusty cowhide shoe. 



74 POEMS. 

lady-killer exquisite, 

With face devoid of tan, 
Go, swing the scythe and drive the plow, 

And learn to be a man. 

HARRY HOWARD. 



Omnia nunc nix arva tegit, premit alba viasque, 
Frigidaque glacies ramis dependet ab altis 
Arborum, et in fluviis vitrea sub veste teguntur 
Undique nunc latices, et hiems superat mala terram. 
Sed mihi jam veris signa adparent venientis ; 
Collibus ecce caput se evolvens tollit ad auras 
Flos violae, dulcis melioris nuntius horae. 
Turn laetus tarn dulce poeta patore fenestrae 
Spectans, somnit agros segetum messi locupletes ; 
Junix Candida arat, pellit genialis arator ; 
Querci sub patera recubans umbra, ipse tuetur, 
Cum volucres cantant, et formosissima Tellus. 
Atque procul pastor pecus amplum ducit in arvis, 
Errando atque canit modulamina rustica avena. 
Et — sed nunc subito giaciei moles cadit alto 
Ab tecto, factusque fragor, monet atque poetam 
Jam esse hiemem, nondumque aestatis tempus adesse ; 
Evigilat, piget et vatem, versatque fenestra. 

HARRY HOWARD. 



a 



SUGARING OFF." 75 



Satgariwg ©ft" 



Round after round in rugged tramp, 

But wholesome discipline, 
By sturdy hands about the camp 

The sap was gathered in ; 
When one perspiring, very red, 

And sitting on a trough, 
" To close the season," so he said, 

Proposed to " sugar off." 

Beyond the farm-house still and white, 

Beyond the poplar bars, 
A lignous pile emitted light 

That paled the brighest stars ; 
Where caldrons hung, like those of which 

The Bard of Avon told, 
With ebullition contents rich 

Above the flame of gold. 

A score or more of beaux and belles 

On toothsomeness intent, 
Like buzzing bees in flower-dells 

Inhaled the maple scent ; 
Who danced around in impish glee 

Like witches in Macbeth, 
And stirred the sweet consistency, 

And laughed till out of breath. 



76 POEMS. 

In fidget spells, by trial sips 

Of liquid boiling hot, 
How many burned their saucy lips ; 

And pouted at the thought 
Of strips of plaster stretched across 

Each rosy orifice, 
Or sighed in secret o'er the loss 

Of some prospective kiss. 

Anon, the mass like melted wax 

Electrified their hopes, 
Who followed out diversion's tracks 

By making candy ropes ; 
That by mysterous lasso twirls — 

How, record never tells — 
Glued ribbon-bows and spiral curls 

To overcoat lapels. 

How many lads in languid pose 

Leaned later 'gainst the trees, 
The sticky syrup on their clothes, 

The 'lasses on their knees — 
That is, the sugar ! — never yet 

Hath language run so fast — 
But one can never quite forget 

What happened decades past. 

Such fun beyond the curfew hour 
A Puritan might rue, 



"SUGARING OFF:' 77 

Or like an- unbelieving Giaour 

Deny the statement true ; 
But so it was — till Pater (and 

A lantern) caused surprise, 
Who quite broke up the festive band 

And captured their supplies. 

0, with a wild remembrance-thrill 

My heart in rapture beats ! 
The egg-shell cups again I fill 

With granulated sweets, 
And mold in scalloped patty-pans 

Delicious maple cakes 
As yellow as the golden sands, 

But pure as snowy flakes. 

I've been, as by the drift of chance, 

A wanderer for years 
From those delightful, happy haunts 

That memory endears ; 
But never life hath been so bright 

As when, upon a trough 
With Peter Stump, one blessed night 

I helped to " sugar off." 

* * * * * 

And for Ms sake, where'er he is, 

This rustic ode I pen 
To stir his risibilities ; 

The jolliest of men, 

7* 



78 POEMS. 

Though Prelate of the Holy See ; 

Who dreams sometimes I know 
Of sweetness, sap, and sorcery — 

0, years and years ago ! 



life. 

Like over-wrought embroideries 

In dainty handicraft embossed, 
Producing strange complexities 

In which the true design is lost, 
So life a tangled fabric is, 

With threads half -hidden, linked and crossed. 

We all are weaving day by day, 

Like ancient, notable housewife, 
In our unskilled, imperfect way, 

'Mid cares and disappointments rife, 
Rude ells of fretwork to portray 

At last the finished web of life. 

But proud success for which we yearn 

Is often hid in trembling doubt ; 
And when the cause we would discern 

Of hinderance, or threatened rout, 
We find that some unlucky turn 

The woof of years has raveled out. 



A GOBELIN TAPESTRY. 79 

[Of the time of Louis Quatorze.] 

0, had this royal, rich relique — 

This rare chef-d'oeuvre, odd and old — 
Volition, and a tongue to speak, 

What history it might unfold ! 
'Twould take us back to gilded days 

Of dissolute, imperial France ; 
When Moliere wrote his classic lays, 

And Fenelon his grand romance. 

0, time ! how nearly memory fails 

To trace its great antiquity — 
Revert to Fontainebleau, Versailles, 

And Louis, lord of luxury ! 
A sovereign's gift, it may have graced 

The palace home of Maintenon ; 
Or gratified the cultured taste 

Of connoisseurs, long dead and gone. 

It forms the imagery of dreams, 

Invades the Sabbath sanctity, 
Disturbs sweet solitude, and seems 

Like some hobgoblin mystery ; 
The present fades and slips away, 

A panoramic view unrolls 
Of lords and ladies, good and gay, 

Or passion-fed, salacious souls. 



80 POEMS. 

Then handed down from sire to son 

Along the Bourbon dynasty, 
What admiration hath it won 

In many a court festivity ! 
Perchance it hung behind the throne 

'Mid velvet arras in a scene 
Where, like an orient vision, shone 

The fair proportions of a queen. 

Was e'er a penny spent in alms 

That this embellished treasure cost — 
Per favor dropped within the palms 

That o'er and o'er its meshes crossed ? 
For hands that could so deftly trace 

A pattern thus complex and quaint, 
Might join the ends of raveled lace, 

Or Love's unconscious blushes paint. 

Did some poor maid, without renown, 

Toil on the fabric late and long — 
Whose pittance bought her wedding gown, 

Its price a sixpence and a song ? 
Or does it breathe of cloister-cells 

Where pensive virgins, hid for years, 
With faces white as immortelles 

Their rosaries told through silent tears ? 

Or in those far-famed factories, 
Where Gobelin artificers 



A GOBELIN TAPESTRY. 81 

Knew naught of hard monopolies 

Except as ill-paid laborers, 
Was bright young manhood's supple strength 

Through weary seasons robbed of grace, 
Embossing one brief ell in length — 

But one that time should not efface ? 

But why should crowds so frantic be 

Before this antiquated gem — 
As 'twere a charm, phylactery, 

Or sort of amulet for them ? 
Have not our busy dames and belles 

With cunning fingers wrought to-day, 
By feminine, spasmodic spells, 

In just as true, artistic way ? 

Look at our screens and crazy quilts, 

Our lambrequins hung everywhere, 
The reptile tribe, or birds on stilts 

That decorate our gay portieres ; 
Embroidered dogs on ottomans, 

So natural that, in the dark, 
As faithful household guardians 

They ever serve — but never bark. 

modern art ! decry the thought 

That more than we our grandmas knew ; 

Or that our predecessors caught 
Diviner rays — it isn't true ! — 



82 POEMS. 

And though in raptures eloquent, 
And rhapsodies we oft engage, 

Tis not o'er skill more excellent — 
But that it bears the stamp of age. 

Then, reverend seniors, hear our lay ! 

Be not like doleful pessimists, 
Lugubrious while growing gray, 

For loving loyalty insists 
Upon our honest guarantee ; 

'Tis worth the token — be consoled — 
For, like this ancient tapestry, 

We'll honor you — because you're old ! 



geaxitifxil %\sc$. 

As clear as lovely Lake Tahoe ! 
That, like a mirror's polished face, 
Reveals pure depths where one may trace 

The shrubs and flowers that round it grow ; 

So, as in pantomimic show, 

Within their liquid fathoms glow 

Quick fancies darting to and fro. 

Like opals, changeable to view, 

Their matchless beauty is displayed 
In shifting tints of light and shade ; 



BEAUTIFUL EYES. 83 

As if prismatic drops of dew 
Had lefc the golden sunlight through, 
And intercepting rays of blue 
Took each its own cerulean hue. 

Anon they flash like orbs of jet, 
As dark as night, of velvet black ; 
And, like a gipsy's, might hurl back 

The charge of saucy, gay coquette 

From some bewildered amoret ; 

Then, gray and brown together met, 

Grow angel-like in meek regret. 

As radiant as diamonds bright 

In exquisite eadean de noce ; 

A bridal token less verbose, 
More pleasing unto sense and sight 
Of one upon her marriage-night, 
Than tomes of missives pink and white 
That loving thought could e'er indite. 

A matron's are those love-lit eyes ; 

Within whose fringe-encircled spheres 

A soulful, wistful look appears, 
That seems to blend, in meaning wise, 
The glory and the sweet surprise 
Of something seen beyond the skies — 
The mystery of Paradise. 



84 POEMS. 

Divining-stars ! they haunt me so, 
And secrets seem to read as well ; 
For things I never meant to tell 
To anybody, friend or foe, 
Maybe that happened long ago, 
Are pictured in them — just as though 
Some solemn certainty they know. 



& gay itx ^ntimt gStome. 

(A Recitation before the Chautauqua Circle.) 

Come, let us leave these narrow bounds 
That circumscribe the sphere of home, 

And soar away beyond the sea — 
And spend a day in ancient Rome ! 

In far Italia's sunny land 

Where roll the Arno and the Po, 

Where turrets rise from castles grand 
Beside the Tiber's rapid flow. 

0, mists of buried years, roll back ! 

And bring, in retrospective glance, 
The Roman epoch and an age 

That time and distance but enhance. 

A few rude shepherds on a hill, 

Their huts and herds, an earthen wall 

That hemmed them in from troublous foes 
Let these the dawn of Rome recall. 



A DAT IN ANCIENT ROME. 85 

Yet, from this petty fortress sprung 

A mighty nation that compelled 
All Italy to own her sway, 

And distant peoples subject held ; 

That grew in splendor, wealth, and power, 

Became the home of cultured art, 
And on the world's arena played 

For centuries the sovereign's part. 

Great deities have been dethroned, 
Their thunderbolts are harmless now ; 

And so, within their temple walls, 
We stand on Campidoglio's brow, 

And cast expectant, rapturous eyes 

Far to the distant Orient — 
Where Helios in splendor rose, 

Whose orbit spans the firmament. 

Here at our feet the Forum lies, 

Where Cicero with silver tongue 
Entranced the wondering populace, 

Who on his thrilling accents hung. 

This stony pavement tessellate 

Re-echoed once victorious tread 
Of conquering armies from the wars 

Where Caesar, or where Pompey, led. 

II — 8 



86 POEMS. 

Who laid the trophies of success 
Down at the feet of Jupiter ; 

For ignorant, blind devotees 

Of heathen gods those ancients were. 

On yonder cliff precipitous 

That shadowed the transgressor's gate, 
The traitoress, Tarpeia, met 

At Sabine hands her wretched fate. 

We tread the Corso's busy street, 

That once triumphal arches spanned ; 

The Campus Martius wander o'er — 
For promenade aud pleasure planned. 

Down through the great Pantheon's dome 
The golden sunlight falls aslant ; 

Like Heaven's benediction on 

A scene that seraphim might haunt. 

Before yon Colosseum's pile 

Might wandering Jews let fall a tear 

For captives of their hapeless race 
Compelled those mighty walls to rear. 

Oh, were those ruins animate, 
And could their history unfold, 

A wondering world would pause to hear 
Their record of the days of old ! 



A DAY IN ANCIENT BOMB. 87 

We should forget this sordid life, 

Our dearest hopes remember not, 
To revel in that glorious past 

With such associations fraught. 

The Via Sacra we might walk 

With Horace, our companion-guide — 

Or Virgil, whose enchanting lays 
Are our rich legacy and pride. 

0, fallen Rome ! thy prestige gone, 

Of opulence and splendor shorn, 
Till, of thy grandeur, naught remains 

Save fragments — shattered and forlorn. 

Thus, proudest monuments upreared 
By man shall yield to slow decay ; 

The sun shall fade, the stars shall fall, 
Yea, Heaven and earth shall pass away. 

When futile things and scenes of time, 

Ephemeral and insecure, 
Into oblivion have passed, 

Jehovah and his word endure. 

Then what to us if funeral pyre 

Receive our dust, or crumbling sod — 

Or where the soul's abode may be, 
If it but safely rest — in God ? 



8g POEMS. 

(A Seaside Episode.) 

Her nose was long, but ended in 

A mighty sudden point ; 
Not plump, nor plumb above the chin, 

But always out of joint. 
Her eyes were serious, dull, and sad ; 

Cosmetics made her fair ; 
I knew all this, but then she had 

The most bewitching hair. 
Molasses candy color shone 

In each resplendent braid, 
That threw the golden light of sun 

Completely in the shade ; 
And when in one symmetric coil 

Upon her classic head, 
It made the other maidens boil 

With envy — so they said. 
As neatly as an artisan 

Might turn a polish-lathe, 
I asked her — I, a modest man — 

To go with me — and bathe. 
Nay, be not shocked ! this etiquette 

Is practised every day 
" Down by the sea " — and yet — and yet 

They're proper — in their way. 



"MAD ROSE." 89 

A Naiad sojourns in this town 

Who like a duck can swim, 
Or like a tub float upside down, 

Who boasts — she learned of him. 
Of course 'twould never do on land, 

" Out-l&nd-ish. " it would be — 
And this is why, we understand, 

So many go to sea. 
My painted boat at anchor lay, 

A jaunty craft, but frail, 
So, apropos, to close the day 

We took an evening sail. 
A bit of caution going, down, 

She gave me on the stair : 
" Now, Fred ! look out ! if I should drown, 

Don't grab me by the hair ! " 
Her book account eclipsed her nose, 

She was a " million-heir- 
ess ; so I said : My darling Rose, 

I'd grab you — anywhere ! " 
The sky grew dark, the wind arose, 

The shore lay far beyond ; 
Her face was white as her summer-clothes, 

And mine to correspond. 
The boat gave one tremendous pitch, 

The gale took off her hat — 
I never dreamed she wore a switch, 

And made of jute, at that ! 



90 POEMS. 

And grappled with despairing force, 

And sense of urgent need, 
At something slippery and coarse 

Like rope of ocean-weed. 
That " mortal coil " came shuffling off, 

And, wriggling like an eel, 
It fell into " the water-trough," 

And soon was — ausgespiel. 
Alas ! the pleasure of the day 

Was marred — and I am sad — 
For my unlucky fiancee 

Is bald — and awful mad! 



%\iz piafeer of ttoe geHs. 

In that land beyond the sea 

Where the Pope " a prisoner " dwells, 
In a hovel, it may be, 

Lived the maker of the bells ; 
Bells that rang in hospices, 

Called St. Bernard monks to prayer 
Or to wandering refugees 

Spake of rest and shelter there. 

Bells resounding through the halls 

Of the stately Vatican, 
Or intoned in cottage-walls 

Roused the slumbering fisherman ; 



THE MAKER OF THE BELLS. 91 

Bells enshrined in monarchs' homes, 

Trembling like their diadems, 
Chiming in cathedral domes, 

Tolling holy requiems. 

Oh ! the sound of wedding-bells 

Due"to his metallic art, 
Mingling oft with funeral knells, 

Echoed in his very heart ; 
Till like friends his bells became, 

He could name them one by one, 
Listening by fagot-flame 

When his day of toil was done. 

In the belfry-tower of Fame, 

When his masterpiece was placed, 
Ruthless the invader came, 

His beloved land laid waste ; 
Carried to a foreign coast, 

Like a stolen captive bird, 
His especial pride and boast — 

Clearer bells were never heard. 

Long he sorrowed, like a child 

For a playmate dead and gone, 
To his loss unreconciled 

Yain it were to labor on ; 
So a wanderer he became, 

Drifting to the Emerald isle, 



92 POEMS. 

Homeless, hopeless, bent in frame, 
Never seen or known to smile. 

When the clouds of dark despair 

Hung above him like a pall, 
Sweeter than the voice of prayer, 

Louder than muezzin-call, 
Over Erin's vale and strand, 

Solemn waves of atmosphere 
Bore to him, in anthem grand, 

Sounds that thrilled his startled ear. 

In a moment, as it were, 

Time and space and grief forgot, 
He, the skilled artificer, 

Glimpses of Italia caught ; 
Of his workshop and his home, 

Children climbing on his knee, 
While above St. Peter's dome 

Rang his chimes across the sea. 

Oh ! it seemed that buried years 

All came back as in a dream, 
Smiles were born of happy tears 

On the banks of Shannon's stream ; 
Never music banished pain 

Like his bells — of life a part ; 
But the sudden joyous strain 

Snapped the tension of his heart. 



ADELE. 93 

Turn where I may her face I see, 

So beautiful and bright, 
One year ago as it looked to me 

Upon her wedding-night ; 
And it seems so strange that she is gone, 
As a star might fade in orient dawn. 

Within the sanctuary aisle, 

While music filled the place, 
With buoyant step and beaming smile, 

In all her queenly grace 
I saw her first, a peerless bride ; 
A lover's joy, a husband's pride. 

Could one of all that brilliant throng, 

This bitter day foresee, 
Or know how soon the nuptial song 

A solemn dirge should be, 
Or in that festal atmosphere 
Discern the shadow of a bier ? 

Into the dear old church once more 

She comes — oh, not as then! 
The sad-faced preacher walks before, 

And hands of reverent men 
Bear slowly through a weeping crowd 
The bride of death — in her snowy shroud. 



94 POEMS. 

Earth ! encumbered everywhere 
With dull, unlovely flowers, 

Could' st thou not sooner, better spare, 
Than this fair bloom of ours, 

Some one that tender look nor word 

Compassionate had ever stirred ? 

The world shall miss her pleasantry, 
And friends her dear caress, 

And days and years to come shall be 
So full of weariness ; 

While cherished hopes in ruins lie, 

And cloud-like gloom obscures the sky. 

long as memory shall last, 
'Twill bear on sorrow's wave 

A thought of her, with blessings past, 
In motherhood who gave 

Herself, a dying sacrifice, 

For a stranger soul from Paradise. 



gWCr (QuZBtXUXl*. 

The world perchance may bear in mind 
The query : " What is left behind \ " 
But angels ask, when all is o'er: 
"What deeds of good have gone before?" 



WESTERN JUSTICE. 95 

WlzsUxn %ustx£Z. 

'Twas a session of court in an Occident town, 
And the criminal stood in the dock — 

The same who had shot a poor Chinaman down — 
With a countenance hard as a rock. 

As if to dispel every doubt of his guilt, 

And strengthen the tragic report, 
There lay the Celestial whose blood had been spilt, — 

That is, his " remainder " — in court. 

The judge, with his sombrero tipped on his head, 
And his pantaloons tucked in his boots, 

Was bound to " dispense (witK) the law," — so he 
" That the present predicament suits." [said — 

The statutes were strict and the chances were slim, 
And well might the law-breaker quail, 

When justice, impartial, accorded to him 
A ninety days' sojourn in jail. 

" Now, Judge ! I'll be hanged — that's a little too steep, 

For surely your honor must know 
That the life of a coolie, though ever so cheap, 

Was never so shockingly low." 

The man of the ermine betrayed no remorse, 

But read from the page on his knee : 
" The minimum — six months for stealing a horse, 

For killing a Chinaman — three ! " 



96 POEMS. 



In thoughtful mood, I sought to trace 
My favorite author's plans, 

When suddenly before my face 
Uprose four shapely hands. 

Their merry owners, young and fair, 
Purloined my chosen book, 

And crowded round my easy-chair 
With eager, wistful look, 

And begged for my decision calm, 
To ease their minds distressed ; 

Which hand before me bore the palm 
Of beauty, o'er the rest. 

Divinely, finely-moulded, all 

My admiration drew 
To native grace, that might enthrall 

An artist's fancy, too. 

Of one I praised the matchless form, 
And its consummate skill, 

And clasped another, soft and warm, 
With sweet and tender thrill. 



PARTED. 97 

The fairy palm that lay in mine 

Like some pellucid gem, 
Might tempt a monarch to resign 

His rightful diadem. 

A duchess might have coveted 

Such models plump and small ; 
And I, by many fancies led, 

Could not decide at all. 

■" My dear young friends," I made reply, 
" The fairest, best, most true 
In all this world, becomes so by 
The good that it can do." 

" They all are beautiful to me, 
And if one does excel 
In loveliness, the other three, 
My wisdom cannot tell." 

41 If, in its honest palm, each day 
Some deed of kindness lives, 
Go ask the poor, — and they will say 
' It is the hand that gives. ' " 



gartect 

Peace is born of Pain, and we 
Say, submissive, " Thy will be ! " 
Fate has parted you and me. 



98 POEMS. 

%o %\xt Stars. 

Empyreal lamps, forever bright, 
Set in the ebon dome of night 

Like studs of sparkling gold, 
What marvels, since Creation's dawn, 
Your starry orbs have gazed upon, 

For centuries untold ! 

Your light shone luminous and warm 
Ere Nature rounded into form 

This whirling mundane sphere ; 
Ere Luna, with her argent beams, 
Bright guardian of a world in dreams, 

Poured forth effulgence clear. 

There was a time when sages sought 
To win, by ceaseless toil and thought, 

The secrets of the skies ; 
To read the destinies of man, 
And fathom God's mysterious plan, 

Concealed from mortal eyes. 

Oh, later Science laughs to scorn, 
As idle superstition, born 

Of ignorance profound, 
The ancient astrologic art, 
Which swayed the seer's prophetic heart, 

And made him world-renowned. 



A NOTED PLACE. 99 

Great prophets, once accounted wise. 

With straining orbs who searched the skies, 

Your plan excites our mirth ; 
For we, with lengthened tube of brass 
And double lens of convex glass, 

Bring down the stars to earth. 

HARRY HOWARD. 



Jl Uofced glace, 

A picture hangs upon my wall 
That fascinates the gaze of all ; 

It is no dream of fancy, 
The reveling of fond conceit 
In some fantastic brain replete 

With wild extravagancy. 

Nor he who dared the scene to limn 
Could so have wrought from idle whim, 

But, as by inspiration ; 
And gave to common things the glow 
That angel fingers might bestow 

On some divine creation. 

Who seized the palette of the skies, 
And dipped his brush in Eden dyes, 

And caught the sunset glory, 
To represent — a waterfall 



10 POEMS. 

As issuing from a ragged wall 
Of rock with cycles hoary. 

A deep ravine, o'ershadowed by 
Huge precipices mountain high ; 

That stand, as cleft asunder, 
Like bold gigantic sentinels 
To guard the loveliest of dells, 

And Nature's rarest wonder. 

A streamlet bent like a shepherd's crook r 
Defining many a cozy nook, 

Within whose sweet seclusion 
May weary toilers, care-distressed, 
Enraptured linger, dream, and rest;. 

Secure from rude intrusion. 

Where cunning elves, in sportive freak, 
Might play at charming " hide and seek ,: 

Till, echoing long after, 
Should hill and dale return the sound 
Of wild hilarity's rebound, 

In peals of spirit-laughter. 

Might not the amatory Muse 
Who in her dainty chalice brews 

The wine of fond desire — 
The lovely rose-crowned Erato, 
In these, recesses long ago 

Have tuned her magic lyre ? 



INN-HOSPITALITY. 101 

Whose dulcet strains inspire still, 
And touch with Passion's tender thrill, 

The scores of youthful lovers 
That here, in some sequestered spot, 
Remembering each — the world forgot — 

One everywhere discovers. 

Oh motley crowds of visitors, 
As artists, tramps, philosophers, 

The place are ever haunting ; 
So oft described by tongue and pen 
That all the world knows " Watkins' Glen " 

Is perfectly enchanting. 



%mx^osp itatitB. 

Within a spacious corridor, 

A waiter found a visitor, 

His visage drawn into a knot 

With mortal rage, because he thought 

The management had tricked him ; 
" Are you a guest of this hotel ?" 
Asked the white-aproned Afric swell. 

" A guest ! No, I'm a victim ! " 

HARRY HOWARD. 

9* 



102 POEMS. 

roucrt and gost. 

it was sad to bear her 

(That chill November night) 

Away from all who loved her so, 
Away from life and light ; 

To hollow a grave in the frozen mold, 

And leave her alone in the dark and cold. 

As if the dress that robed her 

Like shining nebulae, 
When marriage-vows unclosed her lips, 

Now folded rigidly. 
And pillows soft her cheeks that press 
Could give her warmth's luxuriousness- 

could a ray of sunshine, 
To cheer the long, long hours, 

Have struggled through the casket-lid 
With all its wealth of flowers, 

And through the satin and the lace, 

The iciness 'twould half displace. 

Or had it been that morning's 

Delicious light and air 
Had bathed her grave a little while, 

Before we laid her there, 
We could have turned away with less 
Regret, and' more of hopefulness. 



OUR FAULT. 10S 

If day's meridian splendor 

Had fallen on her face, 
When tearfully we laid liar in 

Her lowly dwelling-place, 
It would have seemed in loving thought 
A golden halo round the spot. 

Upon the solemn midnight, 

From hearts unreconciled, 
Goes out the pleading anguish-cry, 

Despairing, sad, and wild: 
" Beloved, from that unseen shore 

Come back, come back to us once more." 

heaven must be brighter 

For one like summer's rose 
Who perished in her loveliness, 

And sleeps beneath the snows ; 
But, in immortal grace and bloom, 
Who lives again beyond the tomb. 



(Bxxx ffrutlt 

If never in our skies appear 
Refulgent gleams the heart to cheer, 

And make the sombre world aglow; 
If Life is always dull and drear, 

Tis just because we make it so. 



104 POEMS. 

"%\iz ptitxfl tSnxtz." 

Oh, who knows what the " mind cure'" is? 
The " latest craze " in remedies 

That everybody's trying — 
For if the rumors half be true 
Of all that it is said to do, 

'Twill save a world of dying. 

" The age of miracles is past ! 

A nine-days' wonder — 'twill not last ! " 

So says the horrid skeptic ; 
But, on the other hand, we find 
A host of maimed, and halt, and blind, 

Consumptive and dyspeptic, 

Of rich and poor, of high and low, 
Who've tried it, and who ought to know, 

Declare there's virtue in it; 
They say it beats their puzzled brains 
How it can banish ills and pains, 

In less than half a minute. 

It takes a " crank," as full of kinks 
As a wire mattress is of links, 

With aching joints rheumatic, 
And straightens every tangle out ; 
And makes him run and leap and shout 

In sudden joy ecstatic. 



" THE MIND CURE:' J 05 

Suppose a stomach's knotted up 
Until it can't retain a sup 

Of anything (but whisky), 
Just seek the " mind-magician's " haunt, 
He says, " Eat anything you want ! " 

Is not this rather risky ? 

A pair of squinting, crooked eyes 
That never saw the azure skies 

But as a cross-barred vision, 
With one unbias'd, air-line glance 
Straightway transforms the broad expanse 

Into a scene Elysian. 

They say a twisted, curved back-bone, 
That like the letter S has grown, 

Can be a thing of beauty ; 
Each vertebra its place slip in, 
Without a drop of medicine — 

But just from sense of duty. 

Now, this is certainly beniorn ! 

For who could live without a spine — 

A reservoir for marrow ? 
The plan should anybody try, 
He very soon would occupy 

A space secure — but narrow. 



106 POEMS. 

Old fogy doctors of the town 
Would dearly love to put it down, 

As humbug — for the fact is, 
They find "their occupation's gone,"' 
As patients everywhere are drawn 

To this new-fangled practice. 

A. journal, too, renowned anjj wise, 
The noole "mind-cure " classifies 

With modern " shams, delusions." 
With " woman suffrage, come-out schemes • " 
Of some fanatic's phantom dreams — 

Oh, what absurd conclusions ! 

We don't see why an editor 
Should ever cast a harmless slur 

On innocent diversions; 
But greatly fear — the thought is sad — 
That " too much learning makes him mad,'" 

And fond of mild aspersions. 

What does the " mind-cure doctor " do ? 
Why, not a thing but look at you, 

As if he were enchanted ; 
And presently, your stubborn will 
Is conquered by his little (?) bill, 

Which in your face is flaunted. 



WEAR A SMILING FACE. 107 

O matchless " mind-cure " mystery I 
Let not the bond of faith in thee 

A ruthless hand dissever ; 
For they who once thy name maligned, 
Are " sitting, clothed, in their right mind," 

And hope to live — forever. 



© W&mx ix Smiling fface. 

O wear a smiling face, 

No matter what your sorrow ! 

Let not the doleful trace 

Of private woes displace 

The sunny glance, nor chase 
Bright hours into the morrow! 

And speak a cheerful word, 

E'en though your heart be breaking! 
Like happy song of bird, 
It may revive when heard 
Some drooping spirit, stirred 

To depths of bitter aching. 

It is not ours to know 

How oft a nobler yearning, 

In some sad life below, 

Is born of that sweet glow 

The countenance doth show 
With love-light ever burning. 



108 POEMS. 

Five mortal hours I cooked that chicken, 
And then sat down and cried ; 

For when a fork I tried to stick in, 
It never pierced its hide. 

A tougher biped strutted never 

Upon a barn-yard plain ; 
I'd like to wring its neck forever, 

And would, if I had it again. 

I put in soda, salt and savor- 

y stuff, till nearly dark, 
To reconstruct that ancient flavor, 

That smelt like Noah's ark. 

And waited — I, a starving sinner — 

Till six o'clock at night ; 
And ordered, long before the dinner, 

The paraffine — for light. 

I half-expired, no longer able 

To bear such emptiness ; 
And just revived when to the table 

It came — in evening dress. 

But when the platter took its form on 
Its horrid eye-teeth showed ; 

And just as true as I'm a Mormon, 
That chicken got up and crowed. 



#1 

9HHL 

wmmk 



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